


Superhuman

by MirrorMystic



Series: Sunless Days [3]
Category: Persona 5, 真女神転生IV FINAL | Shin Megami Tensei IV: Apocalypse
Genre: Action, F/F, F/M, Future Fic, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Post-Canon, Sparring, Spoilers for Ascended Personae, Tailwind Verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-13 04:25:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12975846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirrorMystic/pseuds/MirrorMystic
Summary: “Alright!”Ryuji clapped his hands together, and in an instant, a room full of Hunter Cadets had their eyes on him.“Repeat after me, kids! The first rule of combat is! Humans! Are! Squishy!”





	Superhuman

**Author's Note:**

> A tale from Tokyo's Sunless Days, and the first hints of things to come...
> 
> (Okay, honestly? I just wanted an excuse to write Makoto in some one-on-one fights. But Tokyo Resists and life goes on, even if it's more exciting- and dangerous- than it has ever been. I hope you all enjoy the read. ^^)

~*~  
  
The more things change, the more they stay the same.  
  
For Makoto Niijima, the past nine years hadn’t changed her as much as one might think. She had gone from high school valedictorian, to a double major in sociology and criminal justice, to police officer, and beyond. She’d almost died- twice- and came back, with little more than an ankh on her cheek to show for it. And now, under the Tokyo Lockdown, she was even more: she was Commander Niijima, founding member of the Tokyo Hunter’s Association, war hero, and teenage heartthrob, or so she’d been told.  
  
But beneath it all, beneath the pomp and ceremony, the press conferences and formal dinners, she was still Makoto. She was still someone who could never back down from a fight; someone who kept her eyes on the prize.  
  
The warehouse door slid shut behind her with a screech of old metal. Her target was waiting for her, a silhouette in the feeble light. The distant, morose light of the Halo filtered in from above through ragged holes in the ceiling, casting the room in something akin to moonlight.  
  
The demon stood in the center of the room, framed by Halo-light as if it were on a stage. It was a mass of shadow, smoky, ghost-like, contained in a vaguely feminine shape.  
  
“You again,” the demon purred. “You are a tenacious one.”  
  
Makoto stepped forward, her midnight-blue coat swishing at her heels, her armor glinting silver in the twilight.  
  
“It’s over,” Makoto declared. “There’s nowhere left to run.”  
  
“Yes…” the demon rasped, with a smile in its voice if not its featureless face. “No more running.”  
  
A pillar of black smoke slammed into Makoto like a freight train and hurled her off her feet. The impact skipped her across the pavement like a stone across a pond. The warehouse door gave a tortured metal wail as she crunched against it, the breath driven from her lungs.  
  
Makoto sucked in a breath and gagged- the demon’s smoky form radiated a toxic, sulfurous fume. Makoto ducked, a ragged ‘X’ slicing into the door where her head had been. Claws flashed through the gloom and clanged off of Makoto’s gauntlets in shrieking showers of sparks. Makoto grunted with each strike, her eyes watering in the smoke.  
  
Makoto exhaled. She mouthed an invocation, and punched her fist into her palm.  
  
An aura of blue fire exploded around her. The demon recoiled, shrieking in pain, as Makoto stood, breathing deep of the freshly-cleared air.  
  
The demon’s form resolved out of the smoke. It solidified into a mass of glossy black stone, its eyes a pair of ruby ghost lights in its crystalline skull. It splayed its clawed fingers, gathering smoke in its palms, and threw its arms forward.  
  
Obsidian arrowheads shot out of the mass of smoke. The hail of flechettes sparked off of Makoto’s gauntlets and punched frayed holes through her coat.  
  
Makoto grimaced, feeling the myriad stings of pain as the darts bit into her armor and caught hold. She grit her teeth and punched her fist into her palm once again.  
  
Makoto’s aura surged in strength, the rain of obsidian darts fizzling away to steam as it flashed against her barrier. She charged across the room, a comet blazing a trail of azure flame.  
  
Makoto took a running jump and slammed her knee into the demon’s chest. The demon staggered back, forced on the defensive as Makoto launched a hurricane of blows. Makoto laid in with a series of scything, spinning kicks, each one only barely swatted aside before they hit home. The demon curled around a blow and slashed Makoto across the face, leaving a trio of bloody lines along her jaw- but Makoto spun with the blow and retaliated in kind, with a backhanded strike that sent the demon reeling.  
  
Makoto slipped inside the demon’s guard and unleashed a flurry of punches too fast for the eye to follow- stomach, chest, jaw, her vicious uppercut smashing the demon upwards against the warehouse wall. Makoto darted forward-  
  
-and gagged as the demon’s fist crunched into her gut. She doubled over, eyes watering. The demon curled around her to the side, kicking in the back of her knee and closing its glossy black palm over her face. The demon crunched Makoto down onto her back, looming above her. Even though its obsidian visage was utterly featureless and inscrutable, Makoto could imagine the satisfied smile on its face.  
  
“You’re beaten,” it purred, in that shadowy rasp. “It’s over.”  
  
Makoto met the ghost-lights in the demon’s eyes with her own, vivid red gaze. She growled.  
  
_“I say when it ends.”_  
  
Makoto clamped her legs around the demon’s waist and hurled them aside. They rolled across the pavement, like two lovers tumbling, until Makoto gained the upper hand- and promptly used it to slam the demon to its back on the floor, its arms above its head. It tried to get up, and Makoto smacked its shoulders back flat onto the ground, a gauntleted hand around its throat.  
  
“ _Now_ it’s over,” Makoto seethed. “You’ve lost.”  
  
The demon’s obsidian shell melted into darkness and smoke, dripping away from its body like tar. The form beneath the armor squirmed. Makoto saw sea-green eyes, and lips curled in a smirk.  
  
“Have I?” Hifumi purred. “I have you _right_ where I want you.”  
  
Makoto’s lips curled into a debonair grin. Their lips met, and they fell into one another, cradled in wisps of azure flame.  
  
~*~  
  
“I’d just like to point out,” Makoto began, matter-of-factly, “I don’t think the Association will approve of utilizing our powers for, ah, _recreational_ use.”  
  
“Oh, yes?” Hifumi smiled, tucking her chin over Makoto’s shoulder. “And what about the use of their safehouses?”  
  
Makoto chuckled. “That, too.”  
  
Hifumi tipped Makoto’s chin towards her and planted a whisper of a kiss on her lips. She paused, reaching up and tracing the scratches on Makoto’s cheek, still red and raw.  
  
“...I’m sorry,” Hifumi murmured, somber. “I, um-”  
  
“-was in character?” Makoto finished. “It’s okay. You know I can take it.”  
  
Hifumi nodded, pensive. Her eyes followed the trail of red lines up Makoto’s jaw, settling on the mark of the ankh, falling like a teardrop from Makoto’s right eye. Hifumi’s frown deepened. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then stopped herself. Makoto saw the moment’s hesitation. Their eyes met- wine red and sea green.  
  
Then Makoto’s phone buzzed on the nightstand, and the moment shattered.  
  
Makoto flashed Hifumi a sheepish smile, before rolling over and reaching for her phone. Hifumi clung to Makoto from behind, tucking her chin over Makoto’s shoulder.  
  
“No work,” Hifumi chided, pouting. “We agreed.”  
  
“Sorry,” Makoto said, sheepish. “Once a Thief, forever a Thief.”  
  
Makoto tapped at her phone, while Hifumi snaked an arm around her waist. Makoto took Hifumi’s hand and squeezed.  
  
_“What’s up, Mako?”_ a voice called out.  
  
“Hey, Ryuji,” Makoto smiled. “You’re on speaker.”  
  
_“Sorry to call on your day off,”_ Ryuji said. _“I hope you’ve got pants on.”_  
  
“She doesn’t,” Hifumi chimed in.  
  
_“Huh? Oh, hey, Fumi!”_  
  
“You caught me at a good time,” Makoto said. “Hifumi and I were just doing some training.”  
  
_“Like, actual training, or just some weird roleplaying sex thing?”_  
  
“A lady doesn’t kiss and tell, Ryuji,” Makoto chided. “...Also, it depends on the day.”  
  
“Today it was both,” Hifumi smirked.  
  
Makoto swatted her away. “What do you need from me, Ryuji?”  
  
_“Right, right. Listen, I’ve got this thing coming up at the end of the week. I was wondering if you could do me a favor…”_  
  
~*~  
  
“Alright!”  
  
Ryuji clapped his hands together, and in an instant, a room full of Hunter Cadets had their eyes on him.  
  
“Repeat after me, kids! The first rule of combat is! Humans! Are! Squishy!”  
  
“Humans are squishy,” chorused the rows of cadets sprawled across the risers, some of them more awake than others.  
  
“And don’t you forget it!” Ryuji called. “Against demons, against angels… if you square off against a super in a straight-up fight, you’re going to have a bad day. That’s why we have guns. That’s why we have ways to engage at a distance. That’s why, in a perfect world, the only piece of advice you need for melee combat is: don’t!”  
  
Ryuji smiled ruefully. “...Obviously, we don’t live in a perfect world. And there will be times where you have no choice but to engage in close combat. There’s no getting around it; you just gotta get through it.”  
  
Ryuji clapped his hands together.  
  
“So! Here to demonstrate some close combat techniques, and number one on my list of women who could kick my ass and I’d thank her… everybody say hello to the Queen herself, Hunter-Commander Makoto Niijima!”  
  
Makoto stepped out and was promptly hit by a wall of noise. The crowd went wild- if Makoto was honest, wilder than she was entirely ready for. She took her place beside Ryuji, clasping her hands primly behind her back. She stood up straight, wearing a practiced, regal smile.  
  
“Thank you, everyone,” Makoto said placidly.  
  
“I love you, Commander!” screamed an overzealous fan in a blue dress. “Yes, Queen…!”  
  
Makoto blinked, clearing her throat. “...Um… yes. Thank you.”  
  
“Sit down,” Shinya hissed, tugging Asahi back into her seat, while Nanashi just shook his head, stifling snickers.  
  
“Before we get started,” Makoto said, “allow me to remind you: if you are entering a hostile situation, before anything else, what must you do first?”  
  
“Signal the alert,” the crowd chorused.  
  
“Signal the alert,” Makoto echoed.  
  
“Every Hunter carries a signal whistle,” Ryuji chimed in. “Who’s got theirs on ‘em right now, huh? Show of hands!”  
  
There was a rustle among the crowd of Cadets as they raised their whistles, either on lanyards around their necks or sitting in their pockets.  
  
“That whistle is your life,” Ryuji continued. “Yours, or someone else’s. You see something going down, you call it in, three long, echo two. What is it?”  
  
“Three long, echo two,” the crowd answered.  
  
“Three long blasts at the point of origin,” Ryuji said, “and two short chirps by everyone who hears the alert, to let them know backup’s on its way.”  
  
“And then one long blast when it’s all over, to signal the all-clear,” Makoto finished. “As Hunters, it will be your duty to run towards danger, and not away from it. But if you are in a dangerous situation, you must help yourself before you help others. Always call in the alert, so help can come for you.”  
  
Makoto clapped her hands together and smiled.  
  
“Now, all that being said… I’m going to need some volunteers.”  
  
~*~  
  
Asahi was first in line, to the surprise of nobody who knew her at all. And where Asahi went, her best friends followed- even if Nanashi had to practically drag Shinya along by the hand. Now Asahi was standing ten feet away from her idol, stars in her eyes, while Shinya squirmed in his ill-fitting gym clothes and Nanashi had a nice snicker at Shinya’s expense.  
  
“Commander, I gotta be honest,” Shinya said, fidgeting. “If I see somethin’ bad coming my way, I try not to let ‘em get close to start with.”  
  
“That’s good thinking,” Makoto nodded.  
  
“Humans are squishy,” Ryuji agreed.  
  
“But it doesn’t always work out that way, does it?” Makoto continued. “They get in close, and your ‘keep them at a distance’ plan falls apart, and you either freeze, or you panic. If you can take this course to heart, then in that moment when a demon gets too close for comfort, you at least have something to fall back on. You don’t want to be drawing a blank when every moment counts.”  
  
Makoto turned towards Ryuji, slipping seamlessly into a basic, practiced combat stance.  
  
“We’re going to start with a straight punch,” Makoto said. “If that sounds basic, good: the basics are easier to remember when you’re under stress.”  
  
Makoto raised her leg and patted the sole of her right foot. “Here. Back foot. Push from the ground and thrust your hip and your fist forward at the same time to get the most out of your strength. The impact point should be your first two knuckles, index and middle finger-”  
  
Makoto slammed her fist into Ryuji’s offered training pad with a satisfyingly loud bang. Ryuji grunted, taking a step back.  
  
“-like so,” Makoto smiled. “Give it a try.”  
  
Shinya cleared his throat and haltingly raised his fists. Makoto didn’t just make fighting look easy- she made it look _good_ . At the moment, all Shinya felt was long-limbed and awkward.  
  
Shinya threw a few punches at the training pad braced against Ryuji’s chest. None of his hits were anywhere near as dense or satisfying as Makoto’s first shot. Shinya cleared his throat and glanced down at the floor, embarrassed.  
  
“Hey, hey, eyes up,” Ryuji said gently. “If you’ve got someone in your face, you gotta be aggressive. Taking the initiative and going on the attack- that can really turn a fight around if your opponent isn’t ready for it.”  
  
Shinya nodded. He squared up, his next set of punches hitting a little stronger than before.  
  
“A good punch starts in your feet,” Ryuji coached. He stamped his back foot for emphasis. “Push off your heel, feel that momentum go up your leg and forward through your arm. Straight! Don’t flip your elbow up! Right here!”  
  
Shinya’s fist hit the pad hard enough to make Ryuji grunt.  
  
“There you go,” Ryuji grinned. “And when in doubt, go for their weak spots- eyes, nose, throat. Remember that.”  
  
“Yeah,” Shinya nodded. He smiled. “Thanks, Coach.”  
  
“Nicely done,” Makoto nodded. She met Ryuji’s eyes, her lips curling into a smile. “Now then. Speaking of weak spots…”  
  
~*~  
  
“This next move is going to sound basic,” Makoto said to the crowd, “but remember: basic means easily remembered. Basic means instinctual. Basic means reliable. And when it comes to basic, easily remembered, instinctual self-defense techniques… well, you can’t get much more basic than a front kick to the groin.”  
  
Makoto rolled her eyes as a gym’s worth of teenage boys cringed with sympathy pains. She turned to her next volunteer, an androgynous youth with a side-shave to die for.  
  
“What’s your name, kiddo?” Makoto asked.  
  
“Um. Nanashi, ma’am.” Nanashi cleared his throat. “...Nanashi Kido.”  
  
Makoto blinked. She smiled. “...Nice to meet you, Nanashi. I’m Makoto Niijima.”  
  
“Ma’am, we all know who _you_ are,” Nanashi grinned.  
  
Makoto nodded, lifting her face to the crowd.  
  
“Here’s something that’ll serve you just as well against demons as it will against creeps on the street,” she said. She swiveled towards Ryuji, who flashed her a look as if to remind her to aim for the training pad. She slipped back into her fighting stance.  
  
“Lead with your hips,” Makoto said, slowly pivoting on one foot. “Knee back, leg bent. Then, you snap out-”  
  
Makoto’s foot slammed upwards into Ryuji’s training pad with a sharp bang. Ryuji swore under his breath, shaking pins and needles from his hands.  
  
“-make contact with the top of your foot, right where your shoelaces should be. Nanashi? You’re up.”  
  
Makoto nodded Nanashi forward. He came up, exhaled, and then snapped his leg up in a practiced front kick. His foot hit Ryuji’s training pad with a hard slap.  
  
“Good!” Ryuji said.  
  
“Harder!” Makoto pressed. “Imagine your foot going all the way up and out the top of his head! Imagine you have the power to tear him in half from the groin up!”  
  
Ryuji winced at the thought. Nanashi’s next kick slammed into the pad hard enough to make him take a step back.  
  
“Remember,” Makoto addressed the crowd, “the goal of these techniques is to give you the opportunity to engage your opponent on your own terms. What that means is up to you- whether that means making a run for it, stalling until help arrives, or even dazing them just long enough for you to end the fight yourself. No matter where you are or who you’re facing, a good Hunter is ready for anything.”  
  
~*~  
  
It wasn’t long until Makoto found herself eating those words. A gym full of cadets, that she could handle. But Ryuji didn’t say anything about the _fans_ .  
  
“Oh my gosh,” Asahi babbled, bouncing on her heels. “Commander Niijima, I’m such a huge fan. And, I have to say, you… look… _amazing_ .”  
  
Asahi clapped a hand over her mouth.  
  
“Is that weird? I’m sorry if that was weird. I just- you’re kind of a legend over at Kinshicho Lodge. Everywhere, really! You’re Tokyo’s very own superhero, our knight in shining armor- you wouldn’t happen to have your armor with you today, do you? I would love to see you wear it. Although your workout clothes are nice, too! It’s a very nice tank top. Really shows off your arms. I’ve, um, always wanted to touch your arms. Is that weird? Am I talking too loud? I’m talking too loud, aren’t I?”

“Shhh,” Makoto said, as gently and patiently as she could manage. “Take it easy.”  
  
Makoto placed her hands on Asahi’s shoulders in what she meant to be a calming gesture. Asahi, awed and utterly lacking in impulse control, reached out and poked Makoto’s bicep.  
  
“Oh, wow…” Asahi practically swooned. “...you’re so _strong_ …”  
  
Makoto sighed, bemused.  
  
“Okay. Um. Ryuji, can you, uh… can you take this one?”  
  
~*~  
  
Hifumi caught Makoto’s eyes across the way, stifling snickers at Makoto’s exasperation. Hifumi watched as Ryuji took over the demonstration of a knee kick- using the bony tip of your knee to strike your opponent in the gut or the groin when they were too close for a full kick. Behind him, Makoto was wracking her brain for how to politely get a fan to stop following her like a puppy.  
  
Hifumi smiled. Poor thing. Utterly enamored by Makoto’s biceps. Honestly, who could blame her?  
  
As amusing as it was to see Makoto even the slightest bit exasperated, a strange mood had fallen over Hifumi. There was something in the air, something nagging at the back of her mind. Something off. An undercurrent of unease, a tension Hifumi couldn’t quite explain.  
  
Hifumi’s smile faded, at a loss for what to do with this sudden, unexplained anxiety. She became only vaguely aware of Ryuji’s demonstration of how to escape from a bear hug (“Drop down before he can pin your shoulders! Drop into a squat, like you’re ready to shit on the floor!”), his voice muffled by the buzz of worry in her ear. Hifumi fidgeted, lifting her hand to her mouth and nibbling at her thumbnail.  
  
“You shouldn’t bite your nails,” chided a voice.  
  
Hifumi looked up, and, just for a moment, all that anxiety melted away.  
  
Shiho was below her, picking her way up through the risers. She was wearing a white hoodie with a four-leaf clover on the hem. Now where had Hifumi seen that before?  
  
“Hey, you,” Hifumi murmured, as Shiho sidled up beside her.  
  
“Hey, you,” she returned, warm. Shiho bumped her head against Hifumi’s, like a cat- a habit she’d picked up from Ann.  
  
“Sparrow,” Hifumi smiled.  
  
“Raven,” Shiho nodded. “What brings you here?”  
  
Hifumi tipped her head. “Mako. You?”  
  
“Once a Thief, forever a Thief,” Shiho smiled, serene. “It’s Ryuji. If it were any one of us, he’d come running. ...That, and he thought it’d be prudent to have a nurse on standby.”  
  
Hifumi nodded sagely. She reached out, bumping an elbow against Shiho’s. That one, she’d picked up from Ryuji.  
  
“Are you going to join them up there?” Hifumi asked.  
  
Shiho shook her head. “I’m not a fighter.”  
  
“Well, none of us are fighters compared to Mako,” Hifumi shrugged. “But you know a thing or two. And you have very powerful legs... or so I’ve heard.”  
  
Shiho smiled, coy. “I thought Mako didn’t kiss and tell?”  
  
Hifumi shrugged again. Shiho looped an arm around hers, without any fuss, and leaned into Hifumi’s shoulder. Shiho was always cold- poor circulation or something like that. That must’ve been the reason she was always wearing that hoodie, and always eager to cuddle. One of the reasons, at least.  
  
Hifumi took a deep breath and sighed, Shiho squeezing her arm. In a circle full of bombastic personalities, it was nice to know someone with a modicum of subtlety. Hifumi could always breathe easier when Shiho was around. But that undercurrent of worry just wouldn’t go away...  
  
“Alright!” Ryuji clapped his hands together, drawing Hifumi’s eyes back to the floor below. “Makoto’s shown you guys plenty of theory, so how about we put some of that into practice, huh? Pair up, get some pads on, and get out the mats. If we run through these techniques until you get tired of hearing ‘em, maybe they’ll stick in your brain. And if we run through these techniques until you’re drop dead tired from doing ‘em? Maybe then you’ll actually use them someday.”  
  
Ryuji blew his whistle, sending cadets scurrying into place.  
  
“Now come on, pair up! Pads on! Mats out! Run ‘em in sets and then switch off who’s holding the pad! I want to see you kids break a sweat!”  
  
~*~  
  
Across the city, in the attic at Cafe Leblanc, Futaba was feeling that anxiety, too- but she quickly brushed it off as a side effect of a manic upswing.  
  
She was perched on her rolling chair in the corner of her room, hugging her knees to her chest, gazing up at the computer screen with a wild, eager look in her eyes. She’d built this computer herself, years ago, as a gift for Akira when he returned to Tokyo after spending his senior year out of town. It wasn’t quite at the level of her own computer next door- that computer was her masterpiece- but for tonight, at least, Akira’s would do quite nicely.  
  
Muffled voices drifted up from downstairs. After all this time, Leblanc’s attic still didn’t have a proper door, but they’d finally managed to put up a curtain for some semblance of privacy.  
  
Under the Tokyo Lockdown, Cafe Leblanc was pulling double duty as Yongen-jaya Lodge- a district outpost for the Hunter’s Association. Every day, Hunters came and gathered around the bar, discussing demon sightings and angel politicking over a hot cup of coffee. Akira appreciated the swell in business, but that did make the cafe a little louder and more crowded than Futaba would really like.  
  
Futaba couldn’t hear Akira down there- his patrons were the ones who did most of the talking- but she could feel him, the comforting, familiar presence of his psychic signature. In an ocean of psychic sensory overload, Akira was her constant- her anchor, her key item.  
  
And he wasn’t the only one.  
  
“Hey, player one!” Kana called out. She came up the stairs, pushing through the curtain and making her way to Futaba’s computer chair.  
  
“Hey, player two,” Futaba grinned.  
  
Kana came around behind her and rested her chin on top of Futaba’s head.  
  
“Your brother made us some cocoa,” Kana said, smiling. She handed Futaba her mug, draping an arm around her shoulders. “Now, what are we watching, again?”  
  
“Only something I’ve been itching to see for almost a decade!” Futaba babbled. “A little birdie told me that Ryuji and Makoto had a little something special planned for today. Check it out.”  
  
Futaba got up so Kana could sit down, before promptly climbing back onto Kana’s lap. Petite as they were, a single computer chair was perfect for the two of them. Futaba tapped away at the keyboard, while Kana studied the screen.  
  
There were multiple angles of video feed, all of the Shujin gymnasium.  
  
Kana blinked. “Taba… how did you get this footage…?’  
  
“Please,” Futaba said, with an impish grin. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”  
  
Futaba tinkered with the controls. The central feed zoomed in to Ryuji and Makoto, pacing through the gym- Ryuji in the red Shujin tracksuit and one of his stupid muscle tanks, Makoto in her own workout clothes.  
  
Kana took a moment to admire the view, before glancing down at her own skinny nerd physique.  
  
“Athletes,” she grumbled. Futaba snorted.  
  
Kana looked up, noticing a blinking marker in the corner of the screen.  
  
“Is this live?” Kana asked. “Are you streaming this?”  
  
“I’m _recording_ this,” Futaba grinned. “This shit’s gonna be pay-per-view.”  
  
~*~  
  
Ryuji’s shrill whistle cut through the air.  
  
“Alright, that was a good set!” He called out. Two hours of intense exercise had left his cadets sprawled out on the practice mats like they’d been flattened by an artillery strike.  
  
“That was good work today, everyone,” Makoto chimed in.  
  
“Who’s up for round two?” Ryuji grinned.  
  
His cadets answered with a resounding, exhausted groan.  
  
“Okay, okay,” Ryuji chuckled. “Who’s up for seeing the Commander and I have a little one-on-one?”  
  
Excitement swept across the floor like a tidal wave. Even the most bone-tired cadets stirred from their mats, turning their expectant gaze to their guest of honor. Asahi squealed in delight, to Shinya and Nanashi’s immediate, embarrassed chagrin.  
  
“You’ve all worked so hard today,” Makoto called out, “so I think you all deserve to see how the masters do it.”  
  
Ryuji blew his whistle again. “Alright, let’s get these mats put away and everybody back in the stands! Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”  
  
Cadets scurried past, lugging slabs of stuffed vinyl. Ryuji turned and saw Shiho emerge from the crowd with an armful of gear, Hifumi at her heels. He flashed them a grin.  
  
“Are you two ready for a show?” Ryuji asked.  
  
“Are you ready to get beaten up in front of your whole class?” Shiho giggled.  
  
Makoto met Shiho’s eyes for a moment, giving her arm a nudge. She took a roll of gauze from Shiho’s bundle and started wrapping her hands. Beside her, Ryuji shrugged off his red Shujin Academy track jacket and started doing the same.  
  
“No matter what happens,” Makoto said, a smile creeping into her voice, “I want you to remember, _you_ invited _me_ .”  
  
“Yeah…” Ryuji grinned. “I’m gonna be sore in the morning.”  
  
“That’s why we have pads,” Shiho chirped. Ryuji and Makoto geared up, pulling gloves, knee pads, elbow pads, and head guards from the bundle in her arms. As her pile dwindled to nothing, Shiho sidled up to the duo, leaned up, and gave both Ryuji and Makoto a kiss on their cheeks.  
  
“For luck,” Shiho said, smiling.  
  
Not to be outdone, Hifumi lifted up Makoto’s hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. Their eyes met, sea-green and wine-red.  
  
“...Crush him,” Hifumi said sweetly.  
  
Ryuji rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Hifumi.”  
  
Shiho tugged her own whistle out from under the collar of Ann’s hoodie. “Places, please!”  
  
She and Hifumi stepped back into the shadow of the risers. Ryuji and Makoto had the whole floor to themselves.  
  
They squared off. The gym had fallen utterly silent, the air heavy with anticipation. Makoto slipped into a practiced combat stance, while Ryuji shook out his limbs, still carrying a casual air. Makoto smirked.  
  
“...Let me know if you want me to go easy on you,” Makoto teased.  
  
“Don’t you dare,” Ryuji said, grinning. “No half-assing this. I want your whole ass.”  
  
Makoto snorted. “We’ll see about that.”  
  
“Ready!” Shiho called out. “And…!”  
  
The moment hung heavy in the air. Then…  
  
The whistle shrieked and Ryuji exploded forward in a surge of motion, his carefree demeanor vanishing in an instant. Ryuji assaulted Makoto’s low, rooted stance with a dizzying flurry of punches. They were too fast for Makoto’s eyes to follow- each block she made was subconscious, instinctual. Makoto realized, with some surprise, that Ryuji was actually forcing her back.  
  
Not only that, but he was still teaching, too.  
  
“Be aggressive!” Ryuji called out to his class, his explosive onslaught still gaining ground. “Sometimes, a surprise offense can make up for a lack of skill!”  
  
Ryuji gave a shout, and launched himself up into a succession of three spinning kicks.  
  
Makoto blocked the first, her arms stinging. The second hit her guard with a grunt, her arms buckling. The third-  
  
Makoto ducked under Ryuji’s kick, the crook of his knee landing over her shoulder. She clamped her arms around his thigh and leveraged him into a throw. She hurled him across the gym, skipping him over the floor like a stone across a pond.  
  
Ryuji blinked, his momentum lost. He sprang to his feet- just in time to catch Makoto’s knee in his chest.  
  
Ryuji grunted, the air forced from his lungs. Makoto grabbed him by the shoulders, ready to leverage him into a more powerful knee kick. Ryuji felt it coming. He took it in his chest with a gasp of pain, but he curled an arm around Makoto’s thigh and yanked.  
  
Makoto cried out, pulled off balance, and Ryuji slammed her down onto the floor. Before he could drop down and capitalize, Makoto brought her knees up between them. She shoved him back up, and kicked him across the face. Ryuji reeled back, and Makoto stood, her kick seamlessly bringing her back to her feet.  
  
They shared a look, grinning. Ryuji glanced back to the stands.  
  
“Remember, kids. Knees are safer than kicks…”  
  
Ryuji staggered as Makoto kicked his foot out from under him. He looped an arm around Makoto’s shoulder as he fell, dragging her down with him. They hit the ground and rolled, like two lovers tumbling, until Makoto had him pinned beneath her.  
  
Ryuji grunted with effort, trying to squeeze free, but Makoto was too strong. He glanced back at the risers.  
  
“Stay grounded,” he gasped out. “Stay low, and you won’t fall…”  
  
“Stop reciting theory and _hit me_ ,” Makoto growled.  
  
“Yes, ma’am,” Ryuji grunted back.  
  
Ryuji got his hands on Makoto’s shoulders and yanked her forward, smashing his forehead into hers. Makoto spat out a curse, her hold slackening, and Ryuji cracked her across the jaw.  
  
She rolled off of him, scrabbling to her feet. Ryuji rose to meet her.  
  
A flicker of blue caught the light. They glanced down, watching wisps of blue fire trailing from their heels. Their eyes met.  
  
“What do you say? Time to ramp things up?” Ryuji asked, grinning like a hyena.  
  
“Of course,” Makoto smiled.  
  
Ryuji chuckled. He’d seen Makoto’s disapproving glares, her furious scowls. But her smile? Her smile was always the most dangerous. He extended his hand, almost as if he were inviting Makoto to dance- only for a shimmering card to materialize in the air and drift down into his palm. Makoto met his eyes, and opened her hand, her own card spinning lazily in her grasp.  
  
“Playtime’s over,” Makoto declared.  
  
Ryuji nodded. “Time for the real thing.”  
  
They crushed their cards in their fists with a sound like shattering glass. Power exploded through the room like a hurricane, wreaths of azure flame coiling around their forms.  
  
The flames draped across Ryuji’s shoulders, gathering at his arms and feet and solidifying into leather boots and bracers. The azure flame coalesced into a long, flowing yellow robe, belted around his waist with a crimson sash.  
  
Beside him, Makoto was similarly transformed- bearing her shining silver gauntlets and greaves, a gleaming chestplate, and an ankle length coat in midnight blue.  
  
They blazed with light and azure flames, cast in the visages of the goddess Anat and the hero Seiten Taisei.  
  
Their eyes met. Ryuji and Makoto flashed each other audacious, toothy grins.  
  
“Are you ready for this?” Ryuji asked.  
  
Makoto’s eyes flashed. “Are you ready for _me_ ?”  
  
Ryuji braced himself, lightning crackling between his fingertips, while Makoto charged forward, blazing like a comet…  
  
~*~  
  
Across the city, Kana was watching, utterly enraptured.  
  
“...This is getting serious…” she muttered. She reached around Futaba’s waist and gave her a squeeze. “You’re going to make a fortune.”  
  
Futaba nodded, but said nothing. She was unusually quiet, studying the video feed with a strange intensity. Kana gave her a nudge.  
  
“You okay, Taba?” Kana murmured. “Something wrong?”  
  
Futaba mumbled a non-response, tapping at her keyboard, adjusting the feed. Her cameras swiveled on their hidden mountings, surveying the Shujin Academy gym, studying the crowd...  
  
~*~  
  
It was one thing to watch Ryuji and Makoto having a friendly sparring match in their workout clothes. Watching Ryuji and Makoto channeling their Personae and squaring off like a pair of legendary costumed heroes? That was something else entirely.  
  
Although, from her seat in the stands, Shiho couldn’t quite get the former out of her mind. Ryuji and Makoto tangled in each other, fire in their eyes, all glistening sweat and rippling muscle…  
  
Shiho bit her lip and pointedly pressed her knees together. Beside her, Hifumi leaned forward in her seat, watching intently. She was nibbling at a thumbnail, enthralled in her own, particular way.  
  
“I see…” Hifumi murmured, apparently oblivious to Shiho’s… discomfort. She nodded sagely. “Unstoppable force. Immovable object. A classic dilemma…”  
  
Ryuji let out a sharp cry, plunging his fist into Makoto’s chest. Makoto stopped his punch, catching his forearm between her arms in a tight, scissoring block. Undeterred, Ryuji braced his back foot and lunged, forcing Makoto back- but she still kept her footing.  
  
Ryuji led in with a flurry of punches, his coattails flying behind him like a shooting star. Makoto turtled up, hunched down and bracing before the volley of blows. While Ryuji saw fit to burn his stamina on huge, wild swings, Makoto responded with terse deflections and subtle shifts of her stance. She was conserving her energy, her stance tight and controlled where Ryuji was swift and relentless. Makoto was watching, waiting-  
  
There. Makoto caught Ryuji’s wrists and yanked him forward. Ryuji’s sternum crunched into Makoto’s knee, and he gagged with pain. Ryuji growled, wrenched his hands out of Makoto’s grip, and punched her in the face.  
  
The impact shook the room like a thunderclap. Makoto staggered back, open just for a moment.  
  
Ryuji didn’t waste it. He slipped inside Makoto’s guard, crunched his fist into her stomach, and cracked her across the jaw when she doubled over.  
  
Makoto snarled out a curse. She punched Ryuji in the face, twice, yanked him forward by the collar and punched him again. Ryuji stumbled back a few steps, but Makoto kept coming-  
  
Ryuji braced his stance and smashed the heel of his boot right into Makoto’s chest.  
  
Makoto hit the ground and rolled from the force of Ryuji’s kick. She sprang to her feet, gasping for breath. Makoto saw Ryuji charging forward, saw him launch himself up into a leaping punch…  
  
The moment unspooled. In a single moment of perfect clarity, Makoto saw the strike come down, crashing like thunder…  
  
In that moment, Makoto realized that Ryuji was right. Aggression and surprise can count for a lot in lieu of technique. Power, drive, forward momentum… Ryuji embodied the virtues of his Arcana well.  
  
But so did Makoto. And a little patience- and a little insight- goes a long way.  
  
Ryuji’s fist came crashing down. He struck Makoto in the jaw, snapping her head to the side. But Makoto rolled with the strike, Ryuji’s momentum carrying his fist over Makoto’s shoulder.  
  
Makoto spun, turning her recoil from Ryuji’s punch into a sweeping kick. Ryuji was just landing after performing his huge, leaping punch. He only had one foot on the floor.  
  
And he was landing on his bad leg.  
  
Ryuji cried out in dismay as he suddenly found himself falling. He landed on his back, and when he tried to spring back up, Makoto promptly floored him with a crack to his jaw.  
  
Ryuji looked up and saw Makoto looming over him. His whole body was swimming with pain- save for one last defiant spark. He gritted his teeth, reared back-  
  
Makoto caught his fist, and punched that last bit of defiance out of him. She grabbed the hem of his robe, yanked him up by his collar, and floored him a third and final time.  
  
Ryuji crunched down onto the gym floor, gasping. Makoto stumbled down onto her hands and knees beside him. Vaguely, they heard Shiho’s whistle blaring across the air.  
  
Blue fire spiraled around them, their Thief outfits dissipating into wisps of azure flame. They lay together on the gym floor, staring up at the ceiling, sucking in ragged, haggard breaths.  
  
Their eyes met. Ryuji started to snicker. Makoto broke into a smile. Soon enough, the two of them were laying there, drenched in sweat and adrenaline, giggling like schoolchildren. Ryuji lifted a hand and weakly punched Makoto in the arm.  
  
“So was it good for you, too?” Ryuji asked, grinning. He reached up and prodded at his mouth, and his hand came away bloody. “...You made me bite my tongue.”  
  
“Sorry,” Makoto said. She grinned.  
  
Ryuji cleared his throat, sheepish. “...So, uh… how about we call this one a tie?”  
  
“No, Ryuji,” Makoto chided. “This one’s mine.”  
  
“Alright, alright,” Ryuji smiled weakly. “...But I got some good hits in, didn’t I?”  
  
Makoto rolled her eyes. She rose, unsteady, to her feet, and helped hoist Ryuji up. They waved to the crowd of cheering cadets. Ryuji gave Makoto a nod. He staggered off to the bench, where Shiho was waiting, the telltale green light of healing power already gathering at her fingertips. Makoto trailed after him.  
  
Hifumi handed Makoto a water bottle. Makoto drank half of it before just spilling the rest over her head. The water was blissfully cold. She gave a satisfied sigh and laughed, slicking a hand through her hair.  
  
“He punched you in the face,” Hifumi huffed, indignant. “Twice, even.”  
  
“He knows I can take it,” Makoto said, smiling.  
  
The crowd was still going wild. One girl in particular was screaming her head off about how amazing Makoto was. Makoto had a feeling she knew who _that_ was.  
  
Makoto allowed herself a satisfied grin, still heady with the rush of combat and the thrill of pleasing the crowd. She’d never considered herself one for the stage, but this… this was nice.  
  
Ryuji ushered Makoto back out onto the floor, draping an arm around her shoulders- partly out of affection, and partly because he was still unsteady on his feet.  
  
“So!” Ryuji called out. “Who else wants to go a few rounds with the Queen herself?!”  
  
The crowd roared. Makoto looped an arm around Ryuji’s waist and squeezed, savoring the moment. Makoto closed her eyes, losing herself in the warmth welling up in her chest. She took a deep breath and sighed.  
  
“I do.”  
  
The voice cut through the air like a thrown knife. The cheering crowd hesitated, slowly falling quiet.  
  
A cadet in the first row of the stands pointedly dropped her gym bag on the bench before stepping forward. She was small, but she stood out from the crowd. She must not have received a Shujin uniform yet, because while everyone else was wearing Shujin red, she was wearing black. She marched out into the center of the gym floor, her baggy tracksuit sagging on her petite frame. The hood of her track jacket was pulled up halfway, settling over her long, dark hair like a mourning veil.  
  
The girl herself wasn’t much cheerier than her wardrobe. She strode out onto the floor, meeting Makoto’s wary look with her striking, vivid red eyes. Her voice never rose above a cold muttering.  
  
“Commander Niijima,” she said, her eyes flashing, “I will be your opponent.”  
  
“This girl doesn’t know what she’s in for!” Asahi squealed, giddy, from her seat in the stands. Beside her, Nanashi and Shinya weren’t quite sharing her good humor- they were squinting down at Makoto’s new challenger, the girl all in black with the eerie red eyes.  
  
“Who _is_ that?” Nanashi wondered aloud. He glanced at Shinya.  
  
“Dunno,” Shinya shook his head. “Maybe she’s new…?”  
  
Makoto felt it, too. The mood had shifted, somehow. And, though she’d be loathe to give him the satisfaction of admitting it, the bout with Ryuji had taken more out of her than she’d realized.  
  
Still, she supposed one more match couldn’t hurt. One more match, humoring the wishes of an overzealous cadet.  
  
That’s what Makoto was thinking, at least.  
  
Until the bomb went off.  
  
The girl’s duffel bag exploded and engulfed the stands with a wall of eye-watering smoke. Makoto had barely a second to register the explosion before the girl was upon her, a hurricane of jabbing limbs. And amid the chaos and confusion sweeping through the gym, the girl’s expression remained unchanged: grim, focused, the eye of the storm.  
  
_Mako!_  
  
Makoto gasped as Futaba’s voice sounded in the back of her head. An instant later, she heard the click- and saw the girl’s paired katars flashing through the smoke.  
  
Makoto caught the girl’s wrists as she stabbed her punch daggers towards Makoto’s chest, feeling the band of concealed weapons under the sleeves of her track jacket. The girl twisted her arm in Makoto’s grasp. Her left-hand blade shot out with a pneumatic hiss. It sliced a bloody line across Makoto’s cheek, snapping her head around, slackening her hold.  
  
The girl wrenched her arm out of Makoto’s grip.  
  
There were embers in the air- wisps of blue flame. A shining card appeared before Makoto, falling into her grasp.  
  
Then the assassin’s blade passed through the flames and punched into Makoto’s chest.  
  
Makoto went stiff. She gagged, reaching for the wound in her chest with numbing fingers. The girl yanked her dagger out, and dropped Makoto to the floor.  
  
A blur shot through the smoke and hurled the girl off her feet. Ryuji tackled her and sent them both crashing to the floor, screaming out in wordless fury. They hit the ground, her dagger skittering out of her hands.  
  
“Futaba!” Ryuji yelled to empty air, the girl squirming beneath him. “Trace the signature of the girl in my arms-”  
  
Ryuji grunted as the girl's elbow crunched into his face, and she wriggled out of his grasp. She managed a few steps before he came up from behind, wrapping her in a bear hug. She dropped down into a crouch, slipping through his arms and scooping her fallen dagger off the floor. She punched the pommel of the blade into Ryuji’s right thigh.  
  
The decade-old injury flashed through Ryuji’s body like lightning. He hissed out a curse, going rigid with pain. Then the assassin spun and punched her blade across the back of Ryuji’s knee. He fell to the ground, cursing, clutching his leg.  
  
Some unseen force slammed into the girl and skipped her across the floor like a stone.  
  
Shiho was in the stands, surrounded by a tornado of emerald wind. Her aura pulsed around her, howling wind flinging away the effects of the smoke bomb. The bow of the Huntress, Callisto, manifested in her hands, and a shaft of emerald light formed between her fingers.  
  
The girl grit her teeth, glancing down to Ryuji and Makoto prone on the floor. She raised her hand and flexed her wrist, firing a hail of darts from the launcher in her sleeve.  
  
They hit a mass of blue flame around Makoto’s forearm, hanging frozen in the air. Makoto grunted with effort and flung her arm to the side, Anat’s gauntlet, only partially manifested, melting back into azure flame. A dozen poisoned needles fell uselessly to the floor.  
  
The girl’s bark of frustration was cut off by an explosion of green light as Shiho’s shot hit home. The explosion of wind hurled her against the far wall and then dropped her to the floor with a thud, her dagger flung from her grasp.  
  
She looked up and saw figures moving in pursuit, saw Shiho nocking another arrow of solidified light. She swore.  
  
The assassin dove to the side as the wall above her exploded into emerald wind, grabbed her dagger off the floor, and ran.  
  
~*~  
  
She burst out onto the street, ignoring the shouted voices behind her. She squeezed the hilt of her dagger, as if reassuring herself it was still there, clutching the blade until her knuckles were white.  
  
The sun didn’t rise or set over Tokyo- not anymore. But curfew was approaching, and with it, the end of most folks’ daily power ration. The streets were going dark, and the shadows were growing long- all the better for her to make her escape.  
  
Or so she thought.  
  
Something coiled around her ankle and she fell, hard, onto her knees. A mass of black shadow had her tethered to the sidewalk, wrapped around her leg like black velvet. Down the street, a plume of dark smoke was snaking out of the Shujin gymnasium and flying after her like a comet.  
  
She hissed in frustration, and ripped her dagger through the mass. She drew a knife from her sleeve and spun it so her thumb was behind the grip. She clicked in the stud at the base of the hilt, and then let it fly.  
  
The knife spun through the air, passing harmlessly through the smoke cloud. The smoke solidified into the shape of a woman-  
  
-and then the flashbang went off.  
  
The blast of light shocked Hifumi out of shadow form and sent her tumbling across the pavement. She curled up on the sidewalk, moaning and clutching her ears.  
  
The assassin ran, Shujin Academy vanishing into the distance. The shouts of alarm and the sounds of pursuit faded to nothing.  
  
She darted into an alleyway, peeking behind her to see if she was being followed. She exhaled, pressing her back against the brick wall, taking a moment to catch her breath.  
  
Almost home. Almost home.  
  
She made to leave-  
  
A shadow dropped from the roof above and plunged a dagger into her shoulder. She fell to the ground and rolled with her attacker, kicking them away. The impact wrenched the blade out of her wound. She felt her left arm go limp, and she curled it to her chest, staring down her opponent.  
  
Nanashi met her eyes, dagger raised.  
  
“Who are you?” Nanashi demanded. “Why are you doing this?”  
  
The girl only growled. She was cornered- Nanashi in front of her, brick wall behind. And only one of those would yield to a knife.  
  
She lunged, crying out. Her blade met Nanashi’s with a shower of sparks and caught on the hand-guard. Nanashi levered her arm above his head, reaching out with his free hand and grabbing her wounded shoulder.  
  
The girl shrieked in pain, tears welling in her eyes. Nanashi met her gaze.  
  
“Why attack us? Why attack her?” Nanashi asked. “Commander Niijima’s a hero!”  
  
The girl screamed and kicked Nanashi away. Nanashi grunted in pain as he slammed back against the side of a dumpster. He darted to the side as a ragged slice slashed across the metal.  
  
“You don’t know what she _is_ !” The girl seethed. “You don’t know what she’s _done_ !”  
  
Nanashi ducked, and a pale line slashed into the dumpster above him. He spun his blade in his hands-  
  
The girl kicked him in the arm and he banged his elbow against the dumpster behind him, his knife falling from his fingers. She kicked his knee out from beneath him, and Nanashi hit the ground hard, the breath forced from his lungs.  
  
In an instant, the girl was crouched over him, her blade against his throat. Their eyes met, and she sucked in a ragged breath.  
  
She hooked her dagger around his chain necklace and cut his alert whistle free.  
  
“...You’re on the wrong side of this war,” the assassin muttered.  
  
She raised Nanashi’s whistle to her lips and blew three blasts, long and loud. The echo sounded from neighboring streets- two chirps, and the tromp of boots on pavement.  
  
The assassin glanced down at Nanashi and tossed his signal whistle aside. She sheathed her dagger, and slipped away.  
  
~*~  
  
The night ended like most of their nights did- crammed into a booth at Cafe Leblanc.  
  
“I’m fine,” Makoto insisted. “Really.”  
  
“Sit still,” Shiho chided. “I’m almost done.”  
  
Shiho tied off the gauze wrapped around Makoto’s chest. A bloom of emerald light shone beneath the bandages. Shiho’s touch lingered over Makoto’s collarbone, before rising to the cut, red and raw, along her cheek.  
  
There was a bloody line neatly bisecting the ankh tattoo on Makoto’s right cheek. Shiho gathered a wisp of healing power at her fingertip and pressed it to Makoto’s wound. Soothing green light seeped into the gash and sealed it shut without so much as a scar.  
  
Healing magic left no scars. But the ankh always remained.  
  
Shiho smoothed her thumb across Makoto’s cheek. The healing light had faded, but her touch remained. Their eyes met for a long moment.  
  
The chimes rang above the door, and Ann rushed in, Makoto’s name an urgent whisper across her lips. She slipped into the booth with her and Shiho, taking Makoto’s hand into her lap. Ann leaned her head against them, like a cat, murmuring.  
  
Hifumi sat apart, in a booth all to herself. She watched as Shiho and Ann fussed over Makoto, her eyes lingering on the bloom of light over her chest, the ankh on her cheek, the tenderness in her eyes, the softness in her touch. Then Makoto’s eyes flitted towards her, and Hifumi tore her eyes away, a flicker of… something passing over her face. She sighed, nibbling at a thumbnail.  
  
“You shouldn’t bite your nails,” came a voice.  
  
Hifumi glanced up, and accepted the mug of coffee with a small smile. Akira slid into the booth beside her.  
  
“Are you okay?” Akira asked.  
  
Hifumi raised and lowered one shoulder. “I’m fine. Just a flash grenade, but… I don’t know. The light hurt Lilith and I more than I thought it would.”  
  
“I know the feeling,” Akira nodded. “Arsene was the same way.”  
  
Hifumi looked up. “How’s Ryuji doing?”  
  
“Shiho took care of him,” Akira said gently. “He’s still at the school. Some Hunters from Makoto’s division are escorting the students home. He says he’s not leaving until they all get back safe.”  
  
“He’s a great coach,” Hifumi murmured, smiling.  
  
Akira chuckled. “I dunno. Once a Thief, forever a Thief.”  
  
There was a knock at the door.  
  
“Oh, former Phantom Thieves!” A voice sang. “What’s going on in there? I smell a scoop!”  
  
“Oh, Ohya…” Akira sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.  
  
“I should get to work,” Makoto said, rising. “I need to warn the other Hunter’s Lodges about our would-be assassin, and the Holy Knights will want an incident report…”  
  
“No work,” Ann chided, pulling Makoto back into her seat. “Stay here. I’ll handle the press.”  
  
Ann gave Makoto’s hand a squeeze, then stepped out.  
  
Futaba came down the stairs, a too-large laptop perched precariously in her skinny arms. She shouldered past Makoto’s table with single-minded determination, plopping her computer down right in front of Akira.  
  
“Akira- hey Fumi- Akira, I have the trace,” Futaba announced.  
  
“You found her?” Makoto wondered, getting up.  
  
“ _No work_ ,” Akira chided. Makoto rolled her eyes, and let Shiho pull her back into her seat.  
  
“I traced our wannabe assassin’s psychic signature across the city,” Futaba explained, tracing the route across a map of Tokyo with a fingernail. “I had a solid match, but then I lost her- her signal just vanished. Interference.”  
  
“Where?” Akira asked.  
  
“Here,” Futaba tapped the screen. “The temple at Tsukiji Konganji.”  
  
~*~  
  
The girl grit her teeth as she pulled the thread taut. She cut the excess thread with a flick of her knife, pulled her robe up over her shoulder and sighed, sitting back in her chair. She rolled her aching shoulder and stretched her arm, flexing warmth back into her fingers.  
  
The dresser before her was covered in harnesses, holsters, weapon mountings. She reached out, trailing her fingers over dart launchers and throwing knives, and settled on a fine comb made from glossy black stone, shot through with gold thread. She drew the comb through her long, dark hair, parting like black silk.  
  
Her mother- her real mother- had always loved her hair.  
  
A shadow appeared in her mirror.  
  
“Mission report,” the figure said.  
  
The girl glared at her mirror. She continued combing her hair.  
  
A second figure appeared beside the first, their faces hidden in the dim candlelight.  
  
“Mission report. Now.”  
  
The girl exhaled, and set down her comb.  
  
“...Objective incomplete,” she said, her voice level.  
  
“Well, then,” the figures said in unison, “that is disappointing.”  
  
The girl sprang up and slapped her comb down onto the dresser.  
  
“There were too many,” she growled. “I could not confirm the kills.”  
  
“Disappointing,” the figures said, “but not unexpected.”  
  
“You said there would only be two!” She snapped. “I could have handled two!”  
  
“How will you get stronger if you don’t challenge yourself, dear?” The figures spoke together.  
  
Anger flashed across the girl’s eyes. She snarled and whirled around, hurling her dagger at the duo.  
  
It stopped, frozen, in mid-air, halted with but a thought. One of the women reached forward and plucked the dagger out of the air.  
  
“There’s nothing to be angry about, dear,” she said, examining the blade. “So there is room for improvement. Understandable. A dull knife can be sharpened. But a broken one… gets replaced. Are we clear, dear?”  
  
The girl huffed, lowering her head. “...Yes, Aunties.”  
  
The woman tipped the dagger forward and clicked a release stud on the hilt. A stream of Makoto’s blood dripped down through a groove in the blade and into a prepared glass vial.  
  
“Chin up, dear,” the woman said, slipping the vial into her robe. “This blood holds the key to humanity’s future. And there will be much more blood to come.”  
  
“Yes, Auntie,” the girl murmured meekly.  
  
Something flew out of the candlelit gloom. The girl caught it in her hands- a wide-brimmed straw hat, dyed a striking crimson, to match her robe.  
  
“Whom do you serve?” the women intoned.  
  
The girl sighed, and placed the hat on her head, pulling the brim down over her eyes.    
  
“I pledge myself to the Pact,” Toki murmured. “Until my soul sleeps, and my body burns.”  
  
~*~


End file.
